


what are we

by otabek



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Fluff, Friends to More Than Friends, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, featuring Viktor being the worst kind of dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9890822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otabek/pseuds/otabek
Summary: Yuri is bad with words and Otabek smells good.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love these boys.

They’ve been sort of together for a while now.

They do things like share food, take selfies, and fall asleep on each other’s shoulders when they’re the only two people on the train and the pulsing beams from passing street lamps lull their eyelids shut.

Yuri is content to keep their relationship this way because it’s easy and comfortable and he hates complicated things. And yet, each time he clambers onto the back of Otabek’s bike, he can’t help but lean in and inhale through his nose because Otabek’s cologne has come to smell something like home.

Maybe it has something to do with the smile that tugs at the corners of Otabek’s mouth whenever he watches Yuri skate and thinks it goes unnoticed. Or maybe it’s the familiarity and ease with which Yuri reaches for Otabek’s offered hand whenever he takes a particularly nasty tumble. It could even be something like a whim, the way Otabek doesn’t even hesitate to buy and even gift wrap the fuzzy lion phone charm Yuri’s been eyeing for weeks.

Every so often, when they’re either bent over a computer screen watching reruns of short programs or sipping on juice boxes and flipping through skating magazines in comfortable silence, Yuri wonders if Otabek thinks about this stuff too. Them, that is. _Us_.

Yuri may be one of the worst at expressing himself, but he isn’t stupid. He knows what these feelings are, even if he’s never experienced them directed towards anything but skating. He supposes it’s his own fault for letting those initial feelings of companionship overgrow into his chest and blossom into something a little more intense and a little less platonic.

It’s ironic, the way Yuri constantly struggles with saying too much, yet when it comes to Otabek, being unable to say anything at all. It should be the simplest thing in the world; that one question, those three words.

_What are we?_

He finds himself thinking about it during practice and flubbing nearly every landing, on the way to the convenience store and walking face first into a pole, while he’s boiling water for soup and accidentally allowing it to boil over.

Otabek has never broached the topic, either, though Yuri knows it’s probably because he’s just about as good with words as he is (in that he’s not at all). He’s toed the line in any number of ways: “Your eyes are just as unforgettable as ever” and “You should wear your hair up more often so I can see more of your face” and “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

Yuri files these moments away only to revisit them late at night when sleep is a faraway thing and Otabek’s scent still lingers on the cuffs of his sleeves.

 

 

+

 

 

It happens at 5 pm on a Wednesday on their way out of the practice rink.

Yuri has a painful assortment of fresh bruises from his earlier falls and his brain is clouded with frustration. Frustration, confusion, and impatience because the rink is the one place he should be able to clear his mind and not even the smell of freshly resurfaced ice is enough to chase away the internal mantra of _what are we what are we what are we what are we w_ —

“—hat are we?”

“What?” Otabek has stopped walking and _shit_ , he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it’s already too late to feign ignorance and he may as well get this over with sooner rather than later.

Yuri clenches his teeth before lifting his chin and turning around to look his friend dead in the eye. He’s taller than Otabek now, and has been for some time, but for whatever the reason, he’s never felt so small.

“I said, what are we?” Yuri can barely recognize the sound of his own voice. It’s cold and hard and laced with the hint of a threat; a voice he’s never had to use with Otabek. Something inside of him instinctively flinches.

“We’re friends, of course.”

It’s like a slap in the face, and Yuri is turning to leave not a split second after. He should have known. Should have guessed. He must really be an idiot to have thought for even a minute what they had was anything more than mere friendship.

“Yura,” Otabek says softly but firmly, reaching out and taking Yuri’s hand in his own. “What’s wro—”

“Let go,” Yuri spits, humiliation still sour and heavy on his tongue. “Just let me the fuck go.”

Otabek complies wordlessly, and Yuri thinks that hurts worst of all.

 

 

+

 

 

Yuri finds himself on a park bench, openly glaring at a nearby couple who can’t seem to keep their fucking hands to themselves. It’s shameless and nauseating and the absolute last thing he needs.

“Tch.”

The sun is beginning to set and it casts an orange glow over the bits of the park that aren’t shadowed by trees. Two middle-schoolers chase each other around the edge of the play lot and Yuri tracks their movements with his eyes.

His phone begins to ring and he almost considers not answering because he knows for a fact it’s Otabek.

Then again, it’s because it is Otabek that he ends up answering anyway.

“...Hello?”

“Yura.”

Yuri has always secretly loved the mellow timbre of Otabek’s voice, deep and soothing and somehow always there when he needs it. Now, it’s like a punch to the gut.

“Otabek.”

Mobile static fills Yuri’s ear as Otabek pauses, and Yuri knows it’s because he used his full name in favor of the usual “Beka.”

Heavy silence, and then a solemn, “Viktor told me not to push.”

“Hah?!” Viktor? What the fuck does Viktor have to do with anything?

Yuri straightens his back and scuffs the bottom of his shoe against the surface of the concrete. Across the play lot, one of the middle-schoolers falls and begins to cry.

“He told me you’d never really had friends before meeting me. He said…” Otabek trails off and a fresh wave of annoyance forces Yuri to his feet.

“He said what, Otabek? Spit it out.” This time, Yuri does flinch. He’d never given much thought to the impact and consequences of his words before meeting Otabek, and he hates feeling like he’s slowly dismantling all the progress he’s made over the course of their friendship.

“He said you wouldn’t be ready for anything more than...more than just friends.”

Something like a plea simmers beneath the surface of Otabek’s words and realization dawns on Yuri, leaving his heart pounding and an ember of hope in the back of his throat.

“So...so...” Yuri struggles for coherency, “What you’re saying is—”

“I’ve considered you much more than a friend for a very long time, Yura.”

And then Yuri’s hanging up because there’s no way in hell this is real.

No fucking way.

 

 

+

 

 

Yuri’s head rests on Otabek’s leg later that evening, hair splayed golden and silky between the older boy’s calloused fingers.

“Oi, Katsudon,” Yuri barks into his phone.

“ _Oh, Yuri! Viktor, come here! It’s Yuri! How are you, Yuri? Is everything going we—”_

“Put Viktor on the phone,” Yuri growls between clenched teeth. “We need to have a talk.”

Otabek looks pityingly down at the phone in Yuri’s hand and chuckles softly as he smoothes the younger boy's bangs away from his forehead.

“Don’t be too hard on him.”

“Oh,” Yuri replies, green eyes narrowing dangerously. “He’s in for a world of pain.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love kudos and comments and katsudon.  
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/lovechiId).


End file.
